Yale  University  Prize  Poem 
1902 


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,  -•- 


X 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRIZE  POEM 

1902 


YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRIZE  POEM 


1902 


ODYSSEAN  SONNETS 


BY 


ARTHUR  STANLEY  WHEELER 


NEW  HAVEN 

RYDER'S  PRINTING  HOUSE 

1902 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 

These  sonnets  received  the  fifth  award  of  the 
prize  offered  by  Professor  Albert  S.  Cook  of  Yale 
University,  for  the  best  unpublished  verse.  They 
are  thus  printed  in  accordance  with  the  wish 
of  the  donor  that  there  may  be  no  break  in  the 
set. 

A.  S.  W. 


NAUSICAA. 

The  skies  o'er  Scheria  are  always  blue 

Because  of  one  fair  presence  on  the  isle, 

One  heart  that  knows  nor  evil  thought  nor  guile, 

A  maiden  ever  innocently  true. 

No  aftermath  of  rosemary  and  rue 

Is  thine,  Nausicaa.     No  lurking  wile 

Lies  hid  beneath  the  charm  of  that  swift  smile 

That  fades  as  lightly  as  it  lightly  grew. 

Thy  lamp  once  shed  a  soft  and  silvery  beam 

Athwart  the  Wanderer  from  overseas, 

Who,  tasting  bitterly  his  soured  lees. 

Forbore  to  mar  thy  delicate  pure  dream 

And  so  departing,  left  the  lily-maid 

A  memory  to  cherish  unafraid. 

5 


TELEMACHUS. 

Faint  shadow  of  a  much  enduring  race ! 
Thy  father  wrought  thee  in  his  youthful  days 
Before  his  harsh  experience  could  blaze 
Its  weight  of  knowledge  on  thy  infant  face. 
Thou  soughtst  him  far,  from  place  to  distant  place 
And  wandering  childlike  through  the  fateful  maze 
Around  him  woven,  met  the  pitying  gaze 
Of  king  and  queen  and  curious  populace. 
Strong  arm  and  faithful  heart,  men  say  of  thee. 
Yet  followed  thou  as  follows  daylight  dusk. 
One  story  drags  thee  later  over  sea, 
To  eat  from  Circe's  hand  the  trodden  husk. 
I  rather  picture  thee  in  after  years 
At  Ithaca  forgetting  hopes  and  fears. 

6 


PENELOPE. 

Calm  guiding  spirit  of  the  Odyssey! 
I  see  thy  face  as  one  who  mounts  the  crest 
Of  some  great  wave  on  the  tumultuous  breast 
Of  Ocean,  fearing  with  the  next  to  be 
Plunged  down  to  death,  flung  high  sees  suddenly 
The  pale  moon  shining  seaward,  lightly  drest 
In  whitest  gauze  of  clouds.     She  charms  to  rest 
The  fierce  waves'  fury  by  her  purity. 
And  so  by  purity  thy  modest  fame 
Has  lived ;  and  by  one  other  thing,  a  wraith 
That  fleeting  flies  beyond  the  grasp  of  men. 
Good  women  have  it,  like  a  cyclamen 
That  blossoms  white  in  souls  untouched  of  blame, 
Pure-passioned  flower  of  love.     We  call  it  Faith. 

7 


ODYSSEUS. 

Broad  hand  on  helm  he  faces  down  the  gale, 

Surge-tossed  beneath  a  close-hung  leaden  sky. 

Wan  froth  from  wild  waves  fiercely  flung  leaps  high 

And  now  a  stronger  blast  bears  off  the  sail, 

Yet  neither  wave  nor  bitter  wind  avail 

To  dim  the  steadfast  courage  of  that  eye, 

To  wring  from  those  close  lips  one  coward's  cry, 

One  least  admission  that  a  man  can  fail. 

He  hears  to  leeward  roaring  on  the  rocks 

Wild  breakers  striking  at  the  clouds  with  foam. 

He  feels  beneath  his  feet  the  sundering  shocks 

That  shake  his  ship  from  shattered  stem  to  stern. 

The  sea  strives  vainly,  since  she  cannot  turn 

His  thoughts  from  One  who  waits  for  him  at  home. 

8 


CALYPSO. 

High  on  a  crag  above  the  restless  sea 
In  weary  woe  Calypso  waiting  stands, 
Forever  stretching  out  her  long  thin  hands, 
A  mute  embodiment  of  agony. 
The  last  light  fails,  the  wet  winds  rise,  but  she 
Hopes  on,  with  haggard  eyes  like  burning  brands 
Searing  the  darkness,  while  the  loosened  strands 
Of  all  her  wondrous  hair  float  wildly  free. 
Forgotten  are  the  dreams  of  other  days, 
Her  soul  is  flame,  her  parted  lips  are  dry. 
The  languorous  noonings  in  the  dark  cool  caves 
Were  centuries  ago.     How  long  he  stays ! 
Her  fate  is  fixed,  a  goddess  cannot  die, 
And  ah,  the  ceaseless  beating  of  the  waves ! 

9 


TELEGONUS. 

My  mother  sits  within  her  silver  hall 

And  sings  some  low  sweet  song  of  mystery, 

But  I  hear  sullen  murmurs  from  the  sea, 

The  dull  insistent  sounding  of  the  call 

That  lures  me  ever  outward  to  my  fall 

And  great  Odysseus'.     Lo,  the  prophecy 

Looms  like  a  tall  Olympus  over  me 

And  covers  all  Aaea  with  a  pall. 

The  breeze  blows  from  the  shore,  my  swift  ship  waits, 

Straining  to  start,  an  all  too  eager  steed 

To  bear  a  laggard  rider  to  his  need. 

My  doom  is  nigh,  no  man  escapes  the  Fates. 

Raise  the  white  sail ;  my  father's  son  am  I 

And  still  must  slav  mv  father  ere  I  die. 


HELEN. 

In  Lacedaemon  lay  thy  brethren  cold 
Before  the  plain  of  Troy  was  waste  with  war. 
That  thou  hadst  died  with  them  were  better  far 
Than  to  have  been  the  cause  of  woe  untold. 
For  O,  thou  statue  of  supernal  mold, 
That  man  is  safe  who  hangs  his  mortal  car 
Behind  the  splendor  of  a  falling  star, 
Compared  to  those  who  saw  thy  tresses'  gold. 
I  see  thee  stately  in  thy  husband's  halls ; 
Wild  memories  have  marred  thy  deathless  face, 
But  still  thy  marvellous  and  mystic  grace 
Breathes  music  like  a  melody  that  falls. 
I  would  that  I,  too,  lay  upon  that  plain 
Had  I  for  beauty  such  as  thine  been  slain. 


CASSANDRA. 

At  last  thy  tortured  spirit  has  its  rest, 
Dark  prophetess,  thy  passioning  is  done. 
No  more  the  mercilessly  burning  sun 
Can  parch  those  lips  envenomed  at  behest 
Divine.     Great  beauty  made  thy  life  a  jest, 
More  strangely  sad  than  any  since  begun, 
More  salt  with  tears  than  all  the  streams  that  run 
Unknown  to  man  beneath  the  ocean's  breast. 
The  winds  that  sweep  Mycenae's  arid  plain 
Have  piled  the  dust  of  ages  o'er  thy  head ; 
The  walls  that  ran  with  blood  when  thou  wert  slain 
Have  crumbled  down  above  their  famous  dead, 
But  still  whene'er  those  wandering  winds  arise, 
The  ground  gives  up  thy  wild  prophetic  cries. 

12 


CLYTEMNESTRA. 

My  first-born  perished  on  a  foreign  strand 
At  Aulis  'mid  the  empery  of  ships. 
In  dreams  I  see  my  own  heart's  blood  that  drips 
From  her  white  throat  beneath  a  father's  hand. 
Maddened  I  cried :  "Lo  now !     He  burst  the  band 
That  bound  us.     Thus  his  right  to  kiss  my  lips, 
Nay,  even  touch  these  slender  finger-tips, 
Is  gone,  effaced  like  letters  writ  on  sand." 
Then  came  Aegistheus,  flame  on  bitter  flame, 
For  ten  great  years  our  burning  lit  the  skies. 
Meseemed  my  life  was  one  long  swooning  kiss. 
The  king  returned ;  we  slew  and  felt  no  shame, 
But  yet — there  runs  red  mist  before  mine  eyes 
And  in  my  ears  the  sudden  serpent's  hiss. 

13 


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